


The Libertine

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your father once told you that you’d never be able to save everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Libertine

**THE LIBERTINE**  
SUPERNATURAL  
John/Dean (non-con)  
 **WARNINGS** : non-consenual sex; abuse

  
Your father once told you that you’d never be able to save everything. He speaks from experience, his voice hoarse, his face weathered, you don’t think he would ever be able to speak from the heart, but these words, this bitter tone, its close enough. Your father tells you that no matter how many people you save, there will always be others that escape your grasp. No matter how many demons you kill – all that evil you send back to Hell – no matter how hard you try, there will always be others that succeed, that live one more day or week or year. If you were like Sam at all, if you were even the tiniest bit defiant, you’d question his motives. You’d start asking why, why do you do this then, why do you even bother, but you know that once you start, you’ll never be able to stop.

His hand like ice on your chest, fingers splayed, his lips are on your neck and you’re trying so hard not to cry out because you know how much he hates that. You know how much he hates this. His tears are hot on your cheek, but his lips keep moving up and down, and you can barely make out what he’s saying, what he’s whispering to you in this solemn voice. He hates this almost as much as you do.

You’re fourteen and Sam’s all alone in your big bed and Dad has you in his strong grip and he’s crying in your hair. No matter what, his lips open and closed, open, open, and no matter what, it’ll never be good enough. His teeth scraping your cheekbone, trying so hard not to bite, and he’s saying, no matter what, no matter what, and you just know that you’re so much better than this. His tears and your glassy-eyed stare at the ceiling, you’re so much better than him. Your pajama bottoms are half way undone, but his hand isn’t even close, isn’t even there yet, and you’re trying so hard not to cry, you just want this to be done, to be over, so you can go back to Sam and your soft sheets. His warm embrace.

Maybe you’re not afraid of anything, maybe monsters and urban legends don’t scare you because you know what you can do, you know how strong you are, maybe you’re the toughest person you know, but then maybe you’re not afraid of those things because you’re only afraid of this. Maybe you’re only afraid of how close you and Sam are getting because this is so bad, so awful, and maybe you’re only afraid of how much Dad is fucking you up, of what’s going to happen when Sammy grows up.

Maybe you’re only afraid of this because of how Dad feels about you, his fingers inching and inching towards the skin under your belly, his mouth and teeth, the flutter of his eyelashes sticky against your cheek, against his tear stains, maybe how Dad loves you – like this, like he’s not supposed to – maybe this is exactly the way you want to love Sam. Maybe this is how you’ve always felt about him.

He’s still talking, his voice low and steady, and maybe you don’t believe in God, but you’re praying anyway. His lips against your eyebrow, the corner of your mouth, his lips going down and down and down, kissing the outline of your collarbone, your belly button, he’s saying, no matter what, his lips and his tongue and his teeth, he’s saying, no matter how hard you try, there’s always going to be someone there to fuck everything up. His mouth, and he’s saying, no matter how beautiful the life you’ve built, no matter how perfect your wife is, how perfect – and oh God your hands are digging so hard into the sheets you might be ripping them, you might be tearing everything up, but you can’t look, not yet, your eyes closed so tight, your tears trying so hard to escape – your kids are, his mouth and oh oh oh, no matter what.

Maybe you are this fucked up, maybe you’re so afraid of this because you actually like it, because after everything, after he lets you go and you’re breathing so fast, your chest moving up and down and up and up and up, after his fingers stop digging into your thighs and after he gets up to wash his mouth out, to avoid looking himself in the mirror, after he leaves you on his bed alone, you feel this sense of something wash over you, something like pleasure or relief. Maybe you’re the one who made him do this in the first place, who made him want this. Maybe it’s your fault all along because maybe you’re the one fucking him up.

You feel his hands before you feel his mouth, his fingers stroking the place over your heart, his teeth forming letters against the shell of your ear. He likes this, you know, he likes knowing that no matter how strong you really are – how weak he really is – he likes knowing that he has all this power over you. He likes knowing that he can do anything he wants to you and you wouldn’t even think about caring.

It’s different with Sam. It always has been, and you’re only grateful that one of you can stick up to him, that one of you will be saved from this – from all of this.

No mater what, he’s saying and you’re just so tired, you feel so empty, you just want this to be over. To be done with. You just want him to go away and never come back and then maybe you could have a normal life, just you and Sam and whatever happens. Sometimes you wish so hard for that, you wish and pray and beg that it could be like that, just you and Sam and no one else, just you and Sam, but you know that your Dad’s never gonna go away. He’ll never leave you.

No matter what, he’s saying, and sometimes, with all this training you have, all this knowledge of weapons and combat that replace what you should be learning in school, all this training that no one should ever have to be able to possess, sometimes you think it’s either you or him. Sometimes you just wish you had the strength to pull the gun underneath your head, underneath his pillow, and blow him away.

Sometimes you just wish that this would all be over if something like that happens.

His lips and teeth and tongue, his hand over your heart, he’s saying, No matter what, Dean, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough.

His tears hot on your temple, he’s saying, You’re always going to fail.

He loves you so much and sometimes you can’t even stand the sight of him, his furrowed brow and frowning mouth, his hands spider webbed with veins, he’s saying, No matter what, you’ll never be the hero.


End file.
